Durham
by dutchdear
Summary: The Life and Lies of Hattie Durham


Durham.

That wasn't a name commonly mentioned in the Ozeretny House. In fact, it had practically become non-existent. Durham. Like Henry Durham. Like Hattie Durham. Like Jacqueline and Nancy Durham. Like Harry and Henry Jr. Durham. That word was a curse.

Emelie sat back in the huge arm chair and sighed, taking hold of a picture of the whole family from long ago. She hadn't looked at the old pictures for years, especially after marrying Mike. But now she was going through the old shoeboxes full of albums, reminiscing and reliving old memories.

Sometimes a picture captures a moment one will never forget. Sometimes a picture holds wonderful memories of an occasion, a person, or even an entire lifetime. But sometimes a picture can unleash hundreds of painful memories at just a second-long look. As Emelie held the faded picture with the white border, she felt the presence of hatred, hurt and suffering. This picture wasn't a happy one.

She looked at Henry's fake smile. He was such a phony, especially back then. But then again, Henry was always phony. They had first met when he moved from England to Germany during his father's tour with the Royal British Air Force. Sure, they had hooked up after an out-of-town soccer game Henry had played in with Emelie cheering, but she certainly did not expect to get pregnant after just one time. When she had told him, he'd immediately asked her to marry him, though he was only two years older than her at seventeen. She'd left her surname, Neuenschwander, back in Germany and moved with him on his tours with the American Air Force.

Back in reality, Emelie skipped a few faces to the eyes of a blue-eyed, blonde girl. Hattie. Oh, Hattie. She had a fake smile, too. Not only that, but short hair, sad eyes, and a tiny figure. The chemotherapy had taken its toll on her. She'd lost her curly red hair to grow kinky blonde locks. She'd lost her interest in plaid shirts and Wranglers, math and science, soccer and horseback riding to experiment with drugs, alcohol and self-injury and incessantly dress in Gucci shoes and a Coach purse. But Hattie's eyes were sad because of Henry.

That year had been hell on earth for the Durham family. First, the doctors announced to them that Hattie had leukemia for the second time and had about six months to live. She was fourteen. Second, the children found out, and eventually told a devastated Emelie, that Henry was having an affair that whole time. Third, Emelie's father died suddenly in a suicide bombing in Germany. The world the Durham's had known fell apart around them in the most extreme ways.

She had found out about Henry as she sat beside Hattie's bed in the hospital. It was the worst possible time to hear it. She remembered the teenager's pale face, as if the blood had been drained out of it. Hattie's veins had turned blue. She threw up blood all the time. Emelie felt time slipping away, as five of the six months had already expired. And the doctors had never let Hattie out of the hospital. For five months.

But Emelie held on to a small piece of hope for Hattie's recovery. She had lived past the doctor's expectations as a two-year-old suffering the same disease. _German _doctors. They were hundreds of times better than American doctors. And they had guessed she had a year, and twelve long years later, she was still kicking. But just barely.

The phone call had come just after midnight on Emelie's cell phone. She jerked awake and quickly flipped open the Voyager, hoping the ring had not wakened the patient. "Hello?" she whispered, stepping outside the room door.

"Emelie? Is it too late?"

"Barbara Jean! Why are you calling me so late? Don't you know Hattie and I never sleep anymore and when we can, we certainly don't want to hear from you?" Emelie never really hit it off with Barbara Jean. She had been the young children's nanny for a few years before. The nicest word Emelie could think of to describe the woman was… _simple. _And that was pushing it a little too far.

BJ Sanders was downright _stupid. _Even Hattie thought so. The woman couldn't keep a secret for five seconds, couldn't sit still for less than that, yet talked a million miles a minute. Emelie had always been tempted to blame it on BJ's blonde hair color, but, considering the entire family was blonde and blue-eyed besides Hattie, she couldn't say that. So she blamed it on a pea-sized brain.

"I know, Emelie, I know. But… I couldn't sleep. I just needed someone to tell!"

"What, Barbara Jean? What would you tell me _anything? _Better yet, why would you call me, acting like I care?" Emelie kept her voice as low as possible and peeked through the small window into the room.

"Because I know you _would _care! And you're my best friend, Emelie. I have to tell you!" Emelie groaned. The woman did not know when to stop. She never quite picked up on the sarcasm in Emelie's voice, the insults, and everything else.

"…WHAT?" BJ sniffled on the other end of the line.

"Emelie… Henry and I are having an affair…" and the giant blonde burst out in sobs. Emelie had never heard Barbara Jean cry before. That was the only thing that convinced her that the comment was not a joke.

For a second Emelie couldn't breathe as BJ continued sobbing. She felt as though she'd been hit by an 18-wheeler. Her heart caught in her throat. The only thing that stopped her from vomiting all over the passing orderly was Hattie's weak voice calling for her. She peered through the window, blinking back tears. Before opening the door, Emelie decided she couldn't contain herself any longer. She pitched the phone forcefully into the wall across the corridor, breaking it into a hundred pieces. Composing herself, she stepped inside.

"You okay, honey? Want me to get the doc?"

"Nah, I'm fine. What was that crashing sound?" Even the teenager's lips were white. She scratched her bald head.

"Well, my touch screen is gone," Emelie sighed, but Hattie's face crumpled.

"Uhm… any idea how much overtime I put in at the restaurant to give that to you for Christmas?" Emelie's shoulders drooped.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, honey. I-"

"What possessed you to throw your two-hundred dollar touch screen phone at a brick wall? Just wondering, you know. Normal people don't usually do that." Emelie groaned.

"It's just your father."

"Dad being a douche-nozzle again?"

"I really don't want to talk about it, honey. Can we just-"

"…Mom… did Barbara Jean call?" Hattie's face looked suspiciously toward Emelie.

"… Yeah… how would you know that?" Emelie squinted her eyes as she turned on the room light. Pediatrics seemed to constantly bustle with nurses, orderlies, new patients, and doctors. The lights were constantly on, and they occupied the room with a huge window by the nurses' station. Light shined through 24 hours a day. But Emelie flicked the switch anyway.

"Well you don't cry. And it isn't like you to throw things, let alone your beloved phone."

"So…"

"She told you, didn't she? Stupid blonde."

"…Yeah…" Emelie let a few tears pour down her cheeks. "How did you know she told me?"

"Mom… how do you think I shattered the face of my iPhone?"

"I thought it fell off the bleachers at soccer practice."

"Please, Mother. Under the bleachers is grass, not a stone quarry. And if this is your first cry, it certainly won't be your last." Emelie nodded. That had been the worst night of her life, especially when Hattie was admitted to Urgent Care upon a sudden cardiac arrest that scared Emelie out of her own skin. And Hattie was right. It certainly wasn't Emelie's last cry. Henry filed for divorce that spring.

Emelie hated to just let her marriage slip away like that. She felt useless, defenseless, helpless. She'd been allowed to keep her five children as long as they went to Henry's every other weekend. Two days with him, and the rest of the time was hers. But since the divorce, nothing had been the same. Hattie had pulled away almost completely from the entire world, except for Emelie's mother in Germany. Between Emelie and Grandma, they mustered enough money to buy a round-trip ticket each year so Hattie could spend two months in Germany annually.

How Emelie wished she could have gone. All the stories Hattie came back with, calling Germany 'home', speaking fluent German by age fifteen, along with French, Russian, Spanish, Dutch, Hebrew and even some Greek. Hattie had always spoken with a bit of a German twang, but one visit she flew home with a thick accent that did not break for a year. They used to speak German together at home. Henry never knew what they were saying. Despite the four years he'd spent with Emelie and Hattie during those early days, he never practiced enough to translate. Mother and daughter took advantage of this constantly.

When Grandpa died, Emelie finally got to fly to Europe with Hattie. Besides, Grandma needed them. It was then that Hattie was able to enjoy the season of soccer at the young age of sixteen. How the family celebrated when she led Germany to victory in the European championships. Emelie was so excited that she flew Hattie's boyfriend Oliver into the nearest airport and rushed him to the final game. They won by one point.

It was then that Oliver leapt the ten feet down from the bleachers to the field, ran across the kept green grass, pulled his sweaty girlfriend into his arms and kissed her. She had not relented on the guys since then.

As for the accent, she learned to cover it when Pan-Continental Airlines hired her on the spot. By that time, for sure, the immigration office had sent her a dual citizenship to homeland Germany and new home America. Pan-Con noticed her successful athletic career that included a season of professional women's soccer in Germany. They noted her academic success, which included studying in France, England, Germany and Russia. Pan-Con was extremely impressed with her lingual skills, work ethic, and resumé, which included being gate agent at LAX, professional soccer player, professional musician in a garage band that actually got a pro label, 5-star restaurant waitress, and lifeguard. When Hattie had met with them, they appeared very pleased with her ability to cover an accent, fake another, and swap languages almost without thought. Not to mention her good looks…

Emelie had not seen Hattie since she turned seventeen and moved out to live on her own in Illinois. It was sad, really. Emelie missed her energy, her mind. But as she set down that faded picture, she realized how badly she needed to let go. She hadn't seen Henry for years and hadn't heard from Hattie for months. They had both screwed up their lives. And so she ripped that last picture of their family in half and dropped it into the silver kitchen trashcan.

All the little pieces. All the little pieces of her heart that would never heal.


End file.
